


Awakenings

by Politzania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Altered Mental States, M/M, Memory Related, Pining, dreamstate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: On the table in front of him was a notebook.  He opened it, picked up a pencil and wrote his name on the first page.  Tony.  Yes, that was right.  Tony.   Tony Stark.





	Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tony Stark Bingo 2018 : Square S5 - Coma
> 
> Many thanks to @hddnone/Marvelous Menagerie for their beta help!!

The room was small and cozy, with a soft light shining from the ceiling. The only sound was a low, indistinct hum which came from somewhere outside. He sat in a chair, content for the moment to simply be. 

On the table in front of him was a notebook. He opened it, picked up a pencil and wrote his name on the first page. Tony. Yes, that was right. Tony. Tony Stark. There was something more connected to that second name, a significance that he couldn’t quite think of at the moment. There was another name he went by as well, a designation that somehow meant more to him than his birth name, that had been earned at a terrible cost. But it was also elusive. 

He started writing down numbers, calculations, equations. He felt -- had apparently always felt -- an affinity for numbers. They made sense. They could be relied upon. He shifted from equations to a coding language, programming instructions for a computer. It was intended to be far more complex, but he didn’t have enough paper. 

He started sketching something instead. He wasn’t even sure what it was at first; despite it being his hand and his mind bringing it to life. It became a mechanical arm, with multiple points of articulation, mounted on a wheeled platform. It had a camera, and a three-pronged claw. The word ‘dummy’ floated into his mind, which didn’t make any sense. A dummy couldn’t build something like this. He was smart, he knew that in his bones. And he was a creator, a tinkerer. He had a compulsion to fix things, make things better. It was what he did. 

He moved on to another sketch which became a suit of armor. It was large and clumsy, made of thick sheets of metal, with leather filling in the gaps at the joints. Flamethrowers were mounted on the arms and a crude mask covered the face with narrow slits for eyes. A mix of emotions washed over him as he studied the sketch: fear, anger and sadness vying for his attention. He didn’t yet have a context for these feelings, or for what this armor signified. He had built it, of that he was certain, but for what purpose? And what was the circle in the center of the chest, that he somehow knew should be glowing with a cold, blue light? 

He drew another suit of armor. This one had the same glowing heart, but was much more sleek and streamlined. He reached out to the set of colored pencils -- chose the hot rod red and a dark yellow in place of the gold that belonged on the suit. The coding he’d been working on earlier somehow tied in with this suit, and it dawned on him that the suit could fly, that he himself had flown in it. A surge of joy filled his heart. 

A faint beeping sound intruded on his consciousness. He couldn’t place what was causing it or where it was coming from. It seemed like something he should be concerned about. Instead, a sudden craving for sleep overwhelmed him. He turned to see a bed against one wall, the linens already turned back in a clear invitation. He slept. 

He awoke to the smell of coffee. Good coffee. On the table, there was a tray with a carafe and a mug, a bowl of blueberries and a bagel. He didn’t question where the breakfast had come from, he simply enjoyed it. He returned to the notebook, leafing through the pages before adding to the existing sketches. He drew an ultra-modern house, all curves and clean lines, perched on the edge of a cliff over the ocean. He drew a shining silver tower stretching up into the Manhattan skyline. He knew these places, had designed them himself, had inhabited them. 

But who else worked there, lived there? Surely he had friends, co-workers, perhaps even a lover? A brief impression of blond hair and blue eyes flickered at the edge of his memory, but it eluded his grasp. The hum was louder now, as were the beeps, lending a sense of urgency. There was something he was supposed to be doing, somewhere he was supposed to be. 

The gaps in his memory were starting to concern him. He struggled to recall the last thing he’d been doing before he found himself in this room. He had been flying, flying in that suit of armor, defending his home and those he cared for. He hadn’t been alone, either. He had teammates. He needed to find them, to make sure they were okay. That they knew he was okay. He went to the door, which opened easily enough. But the hallway outside was long, featureless and deserted. 

“Hello? Anyone out there?” The beeping sound was louder out in the hall. He tried to track it down, eventually stopping outside another door. He opened it, just a crack, to discover a hospital room inside. There was a figure in the bed, pale and still, face covered with an oxygen mask with one arm heavily swathed in bandages. Someone injured in the battle, perhaps? 

A man sat at the bedside, broad shoulders hunched over, as if he’d spent too much time there. There was a soft murmur of a one-sided conversation, as the man lifted a lax hand to his lips; it was obvious he cared deeply for the person lying there. 

A strange pang of jealousy shot through Tony, releasing a flood of memories. Flirtations leading to one night stands, beautiful women on his arm out in public, handsome men in his bed in private. His money and his lifestyle -- yes, he remembered now, he was ridiculously rich -- that was what they had loved, not him. There had been one exception; a colleague turned friend turned lover. But he’d made a choice that had ultimately torn them apart. 

There was someone else, too, wasn’t there? A lifelong crush suddenly made real, or was that simply his imagination run wild? He clenched his hands in frustration -- why couldn’t he remember something more? Like where he was, how he had gotten here and what he was supposed to be doing instead? His head started to pound as the beeping sounds got even louder, irregular and insistent. 

“Tony.” A voice, a familiar voice spoke to him. He whirled around, but the hallway was empty. The room in front of him was empty now, as well. He could swear whoever was speaking was standing right next to him, it sounded that close. “Tony, please. You gotta wake up.” The voice cracked slightly, as if overwhelmed by emotion. 

“I am awake,” Tony responded, “I’m right here.” He ran back down the hall, to the room he now thought of as his, which was just as he had left it. The run had somehow left him short of breath, and his limbs felt unnaturally heavy. He leaned on the table and looked down at the open notebook. There was a photograph of a handsome blond caught in mid-laugh, one hand resting on the shoulder of a man Tony recognized as himself. 

Captain America. Steve Rogers. Steve. Yes -- it was all finally coming back to him. The Avengers, Iron Man ... oh god, the arc reactor! Tony frantically scrabbled at his chest, aghast at the feel of metal and glass instead of skin and bone. That explained the shortness of breath, but what about the rest? He struggled against pure panic, forcing logic and reason to the forefront. Had he been captured by one of their enemies? Been drugged with a hallucinogen, or an amnesiac? 

Suddenly weak and dizzy, all he wanted to do was to lie down. A stabbing pain shot up his arm, making him gasp and double over. “Steve.” The name came easily to his lips now; too easily. Yes, of course; yet another instance of wanting something he couldn’t have. A fragile friendship that he didn’t dare push any further. 

Tony collapsed on the bed, chills suddenly wracking his body as he struggled to take a deep breath. There was something in his throat, he couldn’t swallow. “Steve!” he choked out as his vision went black. 

 

“I’m here, Tony. I’m here. I knew you’d be back.” Steve’s reply, breathy with relief, was music to Tony’s ears. “Hold still. You’re on a ventilator. We’ll get that out here in a few moments.” Large warm hands enveloped one of his; the other was stiff and numb. “It’s all right, sweetheart, you’re gonna be okay.” Tony’s heart skipped a beat. Had he heard correctly? 

His eyelids were as heavy as lead, but Tony pried them open, wincing at the blindingly bright light. Steve was right there at his bedside. He looked awful, bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept for at least a week, and a bruise on one side of his face that was just beginning to fade. He continued to murmur words of reassurance and affection as the disquieting sensation of having a throat tube removed demanded all of Tony’s attention. 

Tony coughed and gagged slightly as the nurse ran a moist swab around the inside of his mouth; the few drops of water it left behind tasted immeasurably sweet. “What’s with the pet names, Cap?” he rasped out when he was finally able to speak. 

Even with his still-blurred vision, Tony saw the sudden flash of pain and dismay in Steve’s expression. “You don’t... Tony? Oh no...” He squared his jaw as he continued in a careful tone, “They said that, having been under for awhile, that you might not remember some things.”

The thought of days, maybe even weeks of lost time sent a chill down Tony’s spine, making him forget the whole endearment thing for a moment. “How long was I out?” 

“The better part of three days. You took a hell of a hit.” Steve’s grip tightened for a moment. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Tony closed his eyes and tried to focus, to think past what felt to him like the events of the past day or so. “It was, a Tuesday? I had a meeting with Pepper and some other SI muckety-mucks, then... you and I were supposed to have a sparring session?” His memory was usually so sharp; near-eidetic. And he was tired, so tired. Just those few sentences had taken almost all of his strength. What the hell had happened? 

“That was almost two weeks ago.” Steve broke the news to him gently, but it still made Tony feel ill to learn he had such a large gap in his memory. “You’re right, we were supposed to spar, but you got distracted by something in your workshop. When I came to find you, you argued with me about not needing the training.” 

Tony didn’t recall the argument, but it made sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t need the practice -- after all, he couldn’t wear the armor 24/7 -- it was the fear of being so close to Steve, the flex of the other man’s muscles and the press of that magnificent body against his making him do or say something he’d regret. 

“You just kept going on and on,” Steve said, “until, purely on impulse, I kissed you to see if that would shut you up.” His cheeks turned a dull red, but the determination in his eyes seemed to dare Tony to make light of the situation. 

Tony wanted to laugh, but not at Steve (never at Steve); rather in relief at no longer having to hide his feelings. “It worked, didn’t it, sunshine? I bet you took my breath away.” Tony slipped his hand out of Steve’s grip to place it on his cheek. “Did I tell you then, how big a crush I had on you? How badly I wanted our friendship to become something more? Or did I panic and run away?” 

Steve chuckled, a fond smile slowly stealing across his face. “You tried, but JARVIS locked you in with me, said we had to ‘talk the situation out like adults’.” Steve did his best to imitate the AI’s cultured tones. “You threatened to dismantle him and make keychains out of his circuit boards.” 

“Sounds about right. I do have a flair for the dramatic.” Tony mused, losing himself in those clear blue eyes for a moment as a warm feeling blossomed in his chest “So, where are we with all this? Have we... you know?” Tony waggled his eyebrows, as much to see if Steve could blush any harder as to get an actual reply. 

Sure enough, Steve turned even redder, the blush spreading down his neck and below his collar. “Uh, not really? Not for lack of... shall we say, intent.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, you put the brakes on, Tony. Said you didn’t want to rush things.” 

“Considering my current disabled-list status, I’m kind of regretting that decision.” 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Steve said, leaning in to press a soft kiss against Tony’s lips. “It’ll be worth the wait.”


End file.
